


On Aging and Human Faces

by Prodigal_anon



Series: Reverse Verse [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Hunter!Cas, M/M, Tickling, angel!dean, pre-destiel, reverse verse, ticklish!cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-12
Updated: 2016-09-12
Packaged: 2018-08-14 17:14:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8022337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prodigal_anon/pseuds/Prodigal_anon
Summary: Dean learns a little more on the nuances of humanity's expressions, and tries some of what he's learned on Cas.





	On Aging and Human Faces

     Dean is in Maule, Chile, watching grapes grow. He’d rather be in Lebanon (the one in Kansas, not the one once called Phoenicia that set on the Mediterranean Sea. He’d made the error of confusing the two once, had had a fun time watching Cas and Gabe freak out when they found themselves teleported to a marketplace in Beirut – so much fun that he still does it occasionally, pretending to be confused about the problem).

 

     But Sam has been scolding him lately for spending too much time following the Righteous Man around – _“You shouldn’t allow yourself to be at his beck and call, Esdeniel; you’re not a guardian angel to perch on his shoulder. You’re smothering him.”_ Ugh – Sammy’s still his favorite brother, always will be, but the kid really needs to turn off the analysis sometimes.

 

     In truth, okay, Cas rarely actually needs Dean’s help, though Dean would cheerfully admit it’s entertaining to gank a monster that’s been giving Cas a hard time with a mere gesture, if for no other reason than to hear the hunter’s sarcastic bitching afterwards. It’s funnier yet if his brothers happen to be on that particular hunt as well.

 

     The thing is, Dean just enjoys Cas’s company, and he’s even warming up to the rest of the gang of hunters that he runs with. They’re fun! And Dean’s picking up so much more of the world their Father created through Cas, more than he could have from viewing it from Heaven. The language, the clothing, the touching, the food! That’s part of what the “profound bond” is supposed to be about, isn’t it? Dean enjoys experiencing the world as Cas does and wants to spend time with him, not complicated.

 

     But Sam complains, and gives him the look he’s been perfecting for the last few millennia, that pure distilled Samael-brand disapproval, and it makes Dean want to take off just to not have to see it. He’s been getting guff from a few other angels as well, all along the spectrum of exasperation (Kevin) and amusement (Charlie), and it’s irritating.

 

     So, Chile. No one whines if he sits around and watches water and sunshine get converted into fruit intended for alcoholic consumption.

 

     It’s early in the season. The vines slowly thicken, leaves unfurl in increments, chemicals are produced to begin the process of creating flowers. He finds it intriguing to contrast the way things have changed since last spent any great amount of time among humanity – in Egypt and Mesopotamia, the grapes grew differently, according to environment and species, and so also has humanity developed differently.

 

     He watches an older man dressed in thick clothes as he surveys the vineyard on horseback, unaware of the angel’s presence. The man turns his attention from the vines to the cellular phone he holds in his hand, another thing one wouldn’t have seen in the vineyards of Mesopotamia. The man frowns at his phone, which probably isn’t working – when Dean is not in his vessel, as now, he often has that effect on electronic devices.

 

     As the man frowns, Dean makes an observation and turns his full attention to the man’s face, studying it. After a moment he decides to consult Cas about it, and having made this decision he perks up, sending ripples of celestial enthusiasm through the air and briefly giving the man five full bars of reception before Dean vanishes.

 

     He reappears in Lebanon, outside the bunker, and rings the bell several times, impatiently, but hears no footsteps coming to the door, nor an annoyed shout telling him to shut up or go away. Dean retrieves his own cell phone from his vessel’s pocket and narrows his eyes at the phone, trying to remember how it operates.

 

     The GPS application, Cas has shown him this, will locate where the hunter’s phone is, and as it’s nearly always on his person (often tucked into the back pocket of his jeans, a sight that Dean finds unexpectedly alluring), the angel can use this to locate Cas. Such a great idea! And currently, Cas is… in Utica (the one in New York). He opens the message application and sends one to Cas – “INCOMING” it says, and then he vanishes again.

 

     Having given adequate warning, he feels okay about turning up within Cas’s “bubble”, as he calls it, and does so with an exuberant “Hey Cas! Guess what I –” and trails off as Cas shrieks and spins away from him, stumbling to fall on his butt, gaping up Dean with shock on his face.

 

     Dean grimaces. “Shit – sorry dude, the phone said it sent, and…” he trails off again as, on the table a few feet away, Cas’s phone beeps to alert him to a new message. Cas is already calming down and heaves an enormous noisy sigh, fixing Dean with a Look as he puts his hand to his chest, which is bare, Dean suddenly notices.

 

     “So you actually traveled here faster than the satellite could get the message to me? That’s… all right, that’s pretty cool,” Cas says grudgingly, accepting Dean’s offered hand and letting the angel haul him to his feet. Dean observes that Cas’s legs are bare as well, and one foot. The hunter is wearing only a fitted pair of undergarments and one sock.

 

     “Were you getting ready to soap up in the shower?” he asks solicitously. Cas’s lips twitch which lets him know he didn’t quite get that phrase right somehow – but he swore Balthy used the expression to talk about the shower he’d taken with the twins he’d met? Must be an innuendo. Dean would ask for clarification but he finds himself distracted by the deep blush that’s now spreading over Cas’s face.

 

     “No – I was just changing into my suit. I’m a fed today.” Cas gestures to where the rest of a suit is draped carefully over the bedspread, and quickly bends over to pull on his second sock – what he must have been in the middle of doing when Dean had showed up.

 

     Dean doesn’t even have to be human to know that only dorks put their socks on first. He wanders over to the outfit laid out and plucks at the pressed dark trousers, feeling the soft material against his fingers. “Aren’t you supposed to be not doing that anymore? I thought Anna said not to?”

 

     “Monsters still need to be killed and this is the most efficient way to accomplish the case, regardless of what Anna prefers. Give me my pants, please.” Dean has a fine view of how the blush spreads down Cas’s neck and shoulders as Cas grabs at his trousers.

 

     Dean grins and holds them away out of reach. “Your weird little obsession with modesty is kinda dumb, buddy. Not to put too fine a point on it, but I’ve seen you _beyond_ naked before!”

 

     Cas pulls a face at him. “Don’t remind me,” he mutters, still grabbing at the trousers, still endearingly dressed in only socks and those fitted boxers.

 

     “I was the one who re-formed that terrific ass of yours,” Dean carries on reminding him, still holding the trousers out of reach. “I spent a lot of time on it, you know, kinda proud.” He reaches out as though to tweak the ass in question.

 

     Cas twists away while simultaneously reaching as far as he can to try to get the pants, and Dean lets him. His tweaking hand, still outstretched, grazes along Cas’s sides as the hunter snatches the clothing back, producing a nice little full-body shudder and Cas snaps his arm back quickly and shuffles a few feet away from Dean. Interesting.

 

     “You’re such a _child_ sometimes, Dean,” Cas mutters in exasperation, still blushing furiously as he hurriedly begins pulling on his pants. “Don’t you have anything more important to do than hassle me?”

 

     “Not really.” Dean shrugs. “Before I got here, I was in Chile watching the grapes grow – Oh! That reminds me!” He snaps his fingers; a habit he picked up from Gabriel. “I had something to tell you!”

 

     Cas looks like he wants to say something, but just shakes his head instead and turns away – stupidly shy sometimes – to do up his fly. “All right, tell me what tore you away from Chile.”

 

     “It didn’t tear me away, I just realized something and wanted to tell you,” Dean explains as Cas shakes his head again and turns back, reaching for his shirt. “I figured out why it is that Balthazar looks older than you.”

 

     “Because he _is_ older than me?” Cas asks dryly, putting his arms through the sleeves and beginning to button up.

 

     “ _Nasolabial_ lines, Cas. There was an old guy in Chile, and he had prominent nasolabial lines, which is one of the earlier signs of aging as the skin loses its elasticity as a human gets older.” Dean reaches out and pokes Cas’s smooth cheeks with both index fingers. “You don’t have them, so you look younger!” This was something Dean had struggled to grasp – the physical cues humans used to learn facts about each other upon first seeing one another. They could gauge moods, assess health, and even tell a person’s age based on the subtle physical clues in the person’s skin. It was incredible really – Dean has been able to pick out some of these clues now, with practice, but he thinks his favorite is always going to be the blush that hits Cas hard sometimes.

 

     Cas makes another face at him and pulls his face away. “Good enough guess – but it’s not reliable. Balthazar does have those lines and he is older than me – but Gabriel doesn’t have them and he’s the oldest of us four.”

 

     Dean slumps; he hadn’t thought of that. Cas finishes buttoning and clucks his tongue at him. “You’re partly right, though, it is a sign of aging it’s just not a guarantee. Sometimes people get lucky.”

 

     “Like you, I guess?”

 

     “A lifetime of never smiling has left my face youthfully smooth,” Cas states, dry as dust and stonefaced, and he reaches for his belt.

 

     But he doesn’t quite make it.

 

     Dean snatches both of Cas’s wrists in one hand with angelic speed that Cas probably doesn’t even register, and tugs up the hem of the button-down shirt with the other, pulling it over Cas’s head as he pushes the hunter backwards onto the bed and plops down heavily on his hips. Cas squawks and then immediately starts wriggling around, already knowing what’s coming.

 

     “Dean no no no no no don’t do iiiiiit!!” He pleads, voice already rising nervously and little breathless giggles punctuating the words.

 

     Dean pays no mind. “We’ll fix that right away then. Put some lines on your face,” he proclaims, making sure his grip on Cas’s wrists are careful but firm, and poking teasingly at the trembling body beneath him, the ribs and soft belly, watching as each touch produces a delightful squirm.

 

     “Dean, this isn’t fair, you –ahhahah, nohoho don’t, you cheating eeeee-!!!” He ends in a squeal as Dean’s fingers twirl in one of Cas’s armpits.

 

     “Sure am glad I remembered to put in all these nice ticklish spots again when I was re-forming you,” Dean says jovially, acting as though he can’t hear the helpless laughter from under the shirt. “They’re an awful lot of fun.” He lightly scratches at the bend in Cas’s waist and grins at the answering shriek.

 

     “NO NO NO DE-HEHEHEAN YOU SAH, YOU SEEEHK YOU SON OF A BI-HITCH YOU AHAHAHAHA!!” and Cas is dissolving, just this useless heap of giggly ticklish hunter who can’t even flail at the angel tormenting him.

 

     Dean goes gentle on him this time, just prodding and scribbling lightly, allowing Cas the breath to belt out semi-coherent threats and curses in between bouts of delicious helpless cackling laughter. This, Dean thinks, is humanity at its finest. He feels that if Lucifer could have witnessed this, all that time ago, he’d never have hated humanity so strongly. This reaction of pure joy, when touched _just_ _so_ by someone he trusts – beneath the shirt Cas’s head is thrown back, baring his throat, air huffing at the fabric as he loses himself to giggling as Dean gently swirls his finger in the hunter’s belly button. Behind the flesh, Cas’s soul is _shimmering_ , roiling and flickering in delight and Dean loves this, he could spend eternity watching the joy coming off Cas in waves.

 

     But he can’t, of course, the hunter’s endurance is limited, and so Dean finishes with a flourish by attacking everything he can as quickly as he can so Cas can’t keep track to react – vibrating fingertips against his ribcage, scribbling at his armpits, dusting over his waist and hips before leaning down and delivering a brutal raspberry against the slightly pudgy belly, committing to his eternal memory the exact sound of the resulting shriek. Satisfied, he pats Cas’s belly and lets him up, grinning as the hunter immediately yanks his shirt down and tries to scowl through the dwindling giggles.

 

     “Ugh, Dean, you’re so childish and immature!” He tries smoothing down the front of his shirt.

 

     “Takes one to know one!” Dean retorts obnoxiously, poking him once more in the ribs just because.

 

     Cas actually sticks his tongue out in response, which Dean will take as a victory.


End file.
